Tuesday, June 16, 2009

poets in cars

In any or all of these situations, the same hillside, the same late afternoon early September sunlight, the same ocean, the same breeze, the same clouds. The same sense of an insufficient conclusion, too many loopholes, too many loose ends, too many unanswered questions, not-credible witnesses, unknown motivations, shadowy figures in dark alleyways unaccounted for, an unexplained extra thousand miles on the odometer, a partially recalled memory, an inexact déjà vu, a telling ache in the left elbow, a portentous dream, an overheard snippet of conversation, a missing proof of identity, an unfinished dialogue, a mistranslated passage, an unconfirmed bullet, a found wallet, a dog-eared page in a paperback novel, a crumpled brown paper bag, a man's single brown loafer, a missing argyle sock, a broken glass, an empty wine bottle.




reading
Arrest Docket [Poems] by Christine McNair:






weather
gin and tonics and strawberries and chocolate cake and lingering evenings and all that June was designed for